


The Gifts We're Given

by thevorpalsword



Series: Garden Grow [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Getting to Know Each Other, Historical References, M/M, Mild Blood, Nicky gets into a little bit of a fight but he's fine, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, no beta we die like the old guard doesn't, so's the horse, some descriptions of injury and violence, somewhere on the road after enemies but before friends, this is them finding their footing with each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29523516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevorpalsword/pseuds/thevorpalsword
Summary: Constantinople is their compromise. And honestly, Nicolò thinks that sums up the city itself as well. The whole thing feels like many hundreds of years of compromises somehow built on top of one another.Yusuf and Nicolò kill time in Constantinople; and each of them privately wonder where they can go from here - both metaphorically and literally. How does one go about becoming friends with an enemy?
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Garden Grow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168922
Comments: 14
Kudos: 106





	The Gifts We're Given

Constantinople is their compromise. And honestly, Nicolò thinks that sums up the city itself as well. The whole thing feels like many hundreds of years of compromises somehow built on top of one another.

In hindsight, Nicolò wishes he had pushed for somewhere else entirely. Yusuf never would have agreed of course, but he still wishes he'd tried. Jerusalem is all anyone wants to talk about here. There's refugees from the sacking in the city, terrible rumors about what happened after the city fell flying around from community to community. They can't escape it.

Nicolò can't escape it. He's fairly certain he doesn't deserve to. But his need for atonement aside, something lurches in his chest every time he has to watch the light in Yusuf's eyes fade when someone mentions the fall of Jerusalem. Their memories of those battles hang to close for comfort, and are drawn closer by the wagging tongues.

Things have gotten tenser. Whatever fragile politeness, or ally-ship they'd developed on the road here vanishes a little more with every passing day. Yusuf is quieter, a state that is not natural to him. Everyday Nicolò returns from his casual job moving cargo on the docks, and he is half convinced that Yusuf will not meet him at the inn they've been renting a bed from each night. Down to his bones, he fears that Yusuf will simply vanish one day, unable to stomach seeing Nicolò again.

So yes, Constantinople was a compromise; but Nicolò begins to wonder if it will also become their parting.

He hopes not. It hasn’t been long since he met Yusuf and despite their difficulties, Nicolò does not believe they are meant to go their separate ways.

"Nico!" He turns at the sound of his name. The foreman is waving to get his attention where he's bent over a crate, hands mindlessly packing down onions and other root vegetables in straw for shipment.

"Finish that up and see me for you wages!"

Nicolò raises a hand in acknowledgment and doubles his speed ready to leave for the day.

The walk back to the inn is a long one. Nicolò's Arabic is shaky at best though he tries everyday to improve. Genoa has a sort of unofficially official outpost in Constantinople, it had been easy to turn up to the docks in Pera and pick up some work. Yusuf does something similar, working at a mosque as a scrivener. The downside to Nico's work however is the Genoese quarter is on the other side of the city from where they're staying.

Half way back to the inn Nico stops and gets some food for their supper. Bread this evening as ever, fish, and fresh olives. The sweets are tempting, especially the dates but Nico endeavors to save what money where and when he can. They aren't sharing funds or resources anymore, after all. He must conserve, just in case.

"Hey! Watch it!"

Nicolò and several other by standers look over at the commotion, just in time to see a horse drawn cart over turn in the street, where another merchant had cut across the path of the first. The horse breaks free, and his owner makes a futile lunge but misses entirely. Nicolò leaps into the path of the startled animal and manages to snag the reins and pull the animal to a quick stop. A young boy, probably the merchant’s son dashes up and gratefully takes the horse from him. Nicolò scoops his bag and turns to find the two owners of the carts in each other's faces, gesturing wildly, their conversation – a screaming match really in angry Greek.

"Peace, please, peace," Nicolò says calmly, inserting himself smoothly between them. "Here let me help pick up your things, please."

"If any of my wares are broken, I will be coming for you, you cur!"

"Fuck your mother twice, Conrad! You knew I was there you did this on purpose! If my horse is hurt in any way-!"

"I did not! What were you thinking cutting across like that?!"

"I waved to you! You nodded for me to go ahead!"

"Lies!"

Conrad lunges, Nico pushes him gently back. "Gentlemen, please. Peace, there's no need for brawling in the street."

Conrad snarls in Nico's face and shoves him hard. Nico stumbles, but manages to right himself just in time to get a knife to the gut.

"What in God's name are you doing?!" The other merchant exclaims clearly stunned at the escalation in violence. "Conrad!"

Nico shakily draws the blade from his abdomen and punches ‘Conrad’ right in the face, sending him tumbling back. The man lands awkwardly, hits his head on the rough cobblestones and lies still.

“Shit.” Nicolò mutters, pressing a hand to his side. Blood is already soaking his shirt, he hastily fumbles a rag from his bag to press against the closing wound to keep it hidden.

“Oh God, we must get you help!”

“No, no,” Nico rushes to assure the first merchant. “Please, he only grazed me. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Nico risks uncovering the wound just for a second to let the merchant see the ragged edges, appearing like a shallow wound, before pressing the rag over it again.

‘Conrad’ moans pitifully on the ground.

“Thank you so much for intervening, I had no idea he would resort to such violence, I am so sorry.”

Nico shrugs, pretending to favor his side, even though he can feel the wound has closed over now. He needs to go, the sun is setting soon and he cannot be late back to the inn. Nicolò doesn’t know what will happen if he’s not there when Yusuf expects him to be. He doesn’t want to find out.

“It was not your doing, and I’m fine.”

“No, please, can I offer you some coin? As a thank you?”

“Please, think nothing of it,” Nico assures him.

“What about a gift?” The merchant gestures to the things that had been packed in his cart. Nico glances over the beautiful wood-worked pieces. Bowls, cups, and even more complicated things like boxes inlaid with gorgeous geometric patterns. Nico spies something in particular that the man’s son is trying to wrap back up in a cloth covering.

“Oh, well,” Nicolò begins, “If you insist…”

+

Yusuf doesn't know what to feel when Nicolò doesn't appear at the inn at sundown. It's more that he feels several things at once, some of them contradictory. He and Nicolò have been drifting these past few weeks. Constantinople hasn't been good to them, the thing they have between them is so fragile, and it suffers.

He didn't know how to speak to Nico here. On the road conversation was difficult yes, but there were things they had to talk about. Setting up watches, coordinating efforts for hunting and foraging for food, even just polite requests to share a water skin.

But not in Constantinople. They spend much of their time apart during the day, only drifting back to the same inn, to rent one of the beds available in the communal room for cheap. Yusuf wonders often at night his back pressed against Nicolò's what he was even still _doing_ here. He keeps showing up every evening, half out of habit, half out of...what?

He can’t say. He just can’t give it a name. But being left, being abandoned…it feels hollow. A strange, echoing, shiver of a sensation somewhere behind his heart.

The noise of the downstairs common room inside grows louder. Dinner is in full swing. Normally Yusuf would have no trouble sweeping inside and joining the boisterous meal; but it seems he's been finally left to his own devices. All Yusuf wants right now is to find somewhere quiet where he can turn these thoughts and feelings over in peace; try to make some semblance of sense about it.

Yusuf gets up from where he'd sat down to wait on a stack of crates near the door and dusts himself off. Perhaps the imam at the mosque he's been working at will let him sleep in the dorms for the night. He picks up his bag, slings it over his shoulder and steps out onto the road, joining the flow of humanity away from the inn.

For the rest of his life, Yusuf will think about this moment. He will think about how he almost didn't look back. He will think about how he nearly kept walking. Yusuf will shudder every time, as if he has brushed up against that possible life, that alternate universe and felt how cold, empty and lonely it was.

On a street in Constantinople, Yusuf al-Kaysani looks back over his shoulder at an inn one last time.

And he sees Nicolò di Genova dash from around the corner of a nearby alley, his shirt covered in blood, his bag half on his shoulder and clearly frantic.

Yusuf immediately stops and reverses directions, concerned and checking behind Nicolò to see if he's being perused by enemies or thieves. Nicolò practically skids up to the inn, frantically searching where they usually wait for one another by the crates that Yusuf had been sitting upon not a moment before. Yusuf is almost to him, but Nicolò doesn't see him at all; he's stopped, and blankly stares at the empty space where they've always waited on one another. Nicolò covers his face with his hands, his shoulders hitch without a sound and Yusuf is stunned at the blatant show of emotion. Yusuf comes to a halt an arm's length away, speechless.

Nicolò doesn't look up. He breathes, raggedly into his palms. Now that Yusuf is closer he can see that the blood covering his companion does in fact appear to be his. Which is worrying to say the least.

He touches Nicolò's shoulder.

"What happened to you?" Yusuf asks.

Nicolò whirls on him.

They stare at each other like...like they haven't seen one another in years, rather than just hours. They stare at one another as if a parting was something that would have been suffered through, rather than celebrated, or even just...gone unnoticed.

"You're..." Nico swallows, clearing his throat so his voice won't crack again. "You waited."

Yusuf considers his answer carefully.

"I did," he says finally. "I thought you'd left."

Nicolò shakes his head.

"No. No I wouldn't – I mean, I'm not ever going to –" Nicolò huffs a frustrated breath, pushes his shoulders back and looks at Yusuf with that look he gets when he's about to be reckless. "I'm not going to leave. You, I mean. I'm not going to leave you behind."

Yusuf nods stiffly. "Then, I will always wait for you."

"Okay, we can, work, with that then."

They are both so painfully awkward that Yusuf desperately casts about for something else to talk about.

Oh, excellent, he's covered in blood.

"What happened to you?" Yusuf repeats his earlier question.

Nicolò looks down at himself sheepish.

"I might have tried to break up a fight."

"Tried?"

"One of them stabbed me."

Yusuf rolls his eyes at him.

"Let them have their squabbles, Nicolò. You don't have to intervene in every petty brawl."

"True, but I _did_ get a reward from a grateful carpenter."

"Oh?"

Nicolò reaches into his bag and pulls out a smartly wrapped bundle. He presents it to Yusuf with a flourish. Yusuf laughs in surprise at Nico's antics but takes the bundle and unwraps it.

It's an exquisitely beautiful nardshir board. The base is made out of some kind of dark colored wood, and had been inlaid with dozens of small pieces of different kinds of wood turning the entire thing into a mosaic. It is made in two halves to make it easier to pack or carry while traveling. And tucked in amongst the wrapping is a smaller cloth bag that rattles when handled - undoubtedly holding the required draught pieces and dice.

"This is...this is an incredible gift, Nico. Did you save his life? The life of his son?"

Nicolò chuckles. "His horse, actually."

Yusuf breaks down into laughter.

"Do you play?" Yusuf asks once he's calmed down.

"I don't, I’m familiar with tabula, but the carpenter told me nardshir is little different.” Nicolò replies, and then shifts a little nervously. "I was hoping you could teach me."

"I'd be delighted. A game is an excellent way to pass slow evenings." Yusuf says, and he means it.

Nico smiles at him. Really, properly smiles. It's a revelation because it is unlike any smile Yusuf has seen from him thus far. It is not small, smothered, or a mere upturning of his lips. No, this smile shines from the man in a way Yusuf didn't know he was capable of. His eyes glitter, and it has a devastating effect on the pace of Yusuf’s heart. He scrambles to think of something to say.

"You,” Yusuf stumbles a little in his speech but manages to recover when he again notices that Nico is covered in blood still. “You need to clean up first. Go clean up at the bathhouse. I'll secure our lodgings for the evening and find us some space at a table."

Nicolò glances down at himself, and grimaces. “You’re right,” he says. He looks back up at Yusuf, his face lifting back into something that looks like relief, maybe even joy. "I'll be right back."

Yusuf smiles at him. He lets the smile reach his eyes.

"I'll be waiting."

**Author's Note:**

> Things I researched while writing this:  
> -Galata (the Genoese quarter in Constantinople was a real place, Galata tower, built in the 13th century still stands in fact. It however, wasn't established until *after* when this story takes place...hence me calling it Pera (an older name for the quarter) and calling it unofficially official.)  
> -backgammon (I love this game, this was a delight to research.)  
> -common sleeping arrangements available for rent in medieval times
> 
> Music listened to while writing and editing: [Tinariwen (+IO:I) - Nànnuflày](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1YIgwPsX5Q) (seriously, y'all check this band out. if you like blues-y guitar, you'll find this band amazing)
> 
> This one came as a result of wondering about games and how they can bridge all kinds of spaces between people. During These Times of Plague, a few friends and I have been playing video games together by committee using Discord; and it's helped us stay connected. 
> 
> I hope everyone liked this small diversion. If you did, and want to let me know, please consider leaving a kudos or a comment. 
> 
> Y'all stay safe out there. <3


End file.
